


A True Knight

by C_M_A



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_M_A/pseuds/C_M_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have."<br/>If things had gone the way Sandor intended. This isn't pretty, heed the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A True Knight

He could smell the reek of himself as he strode down the corridor, armour gently clanking and the soft creaks of boiled leather. The stink of sweat, sour wine and stale vomit, and over it all, the iron tang of blood. He found her chamber, and, taking ever deeper draughts from the stolen flagon lay down, exhausted, on her bed.

He knew she’d come here, mayhap to wait for whichever pretence of knighthood it was that had her running to the godswood at all hours. After all the pain she’d suffered, the death she’d seen, she still believed her ‘true’ knight would save her. His anger at her innocence boiled. There would be no salvation for Sansa Stark this night. Or himself. Or anyone.

He had to gag her with his palm to stop her startled scream before it began.

‘Don’t you want to ask who’s winning the battle, little bird?’

‘Who?’

‘I only know who’s lost. Me.’

‘What have you lost?’

‘All.’

He wanted to leave this godsforsaken city before it burned to the ground, consuming him with it. There was only one other thing he wanted more than that. Her. To show her what a dog could do to a wolf.

He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed.

‘I’ll have that song.’ His dagger was out, poised at her throat, ‘Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.’

Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous to his ears. When she tailed off, he took the blade from her throat, never speaking. She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. 

‘Little bird.’

He rose from the bed, ripping the delicate cloth of her dress, his rough, calloused fingers gripping her skin. He could only hear her soft whimpers and feel her tiny hands pushing against him as he forced himself inside her. His tears falling onto her face as he invaded her, the stickiness of the blood from his face as he pressed it to hers.

The soft sound of his footsteps retreating as he left her still warm body huddled under his torn and bloodied cloak. Her innocence smeared like her blood on his cock, her spirit, like her heart, ripped from her and held in his hands.


End file.
